


Being Compromised

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU to the Avengers movie, post-Inception. For the prompt <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/4305.html?thread=3942353#t3942353">Natasha wasn't able to beat Clint into normalcy. She has to perform inception.</a></p><p>*points to prompt* Yep. It's as complicated as that sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Creating The Team

Clint Barton's eyes weren't Tesseract blue any longer, but his mind was still not his own. He looked at Natasha Romanoff as if she was a stranger, as if the history they had shared meant nothing at all. She sat beside him on the bed, his wrists and ankles restrained by leather, a blank expression on her face. Her back was ramrod straight, hair perfectly curled, tinted lip balm on her lips. Natasha wore her black nanomesh cat suit, less out of fear of what Clint might do, and more because she hadn't had any time to change into something more casual. It likely would have been a lost cause anyway, given the way he watched her.

It would never show outwardly, but her heart was breaking.

Natasha rose to leave, and Clint surged against the leathers, teeth bared at her. "You can't keep me here forever!" he shouted. "Loki will come for me. You have no idea what he's capable of, Agent." He gave her a slick, oily grin that was meant to put fear into her. Natasha had taught him that smile, and inside it felt like she was dying. "This world is out of time. As soon as the portal opens, your lives are forfeit."

She flashed him her own death's head grin, and he paused. Good. She was still capable of inspiring fear, even with Loki's influence coursing through his mind. "Let them come. They will bleed for all they've done."

From his cell, she went directly to speak with Nick Fury. He was in the impromptu morgue, staring at a covered body. There was a large bloodstain on the white sheet, directly over the chest. Natasha felt sick inside, as surely he did, though neither showed it. There wasn't time for that. The Hulk was loose, Thor had fallen, the helicarrier was damaged, and Loki was still at large. It didn't matter that she'd seduced his plan from him, that she'd tried to save them all. They'd _lost,_ and there wasn't anything she could do about it. Blades and hand to hand wouldn't work in this situation.

"How is he?" Fury asked, uncovered eye still fixed on the bloodstain.

"Not ours," Natasha replied shortly.

Fury looked up, clasping his hands behind his back. If he'd ever known of their relationship, he had never let on. Coulson definitely knew, but he also knew that it wasn't worth trying to destroy. Perhaps he told himself that affection for Clint kept her in line, kept her loyal to SHIELD and all that they were meant to do. Maybe that was just the party line they told any superiors who wondered why Clint and Natasha were so close. Coulson knew that as long as they did their jobs, as long as orders were followed to the letter, their association could continue unchecked.

"What are we going to do about that, Agent Romanoff?" he asked, voice without inflection. He knew that bellowing orders at her wouldn't work. She had been trained far too well and far too long for bully tactics.

"He's going to need work," Natasha replied. "It's not a lost cause, but Loki rearranged all of his thoughts and probably left traps behind if we got a psychologist in there with him."

Fury snorted. "He'd eat a shrink for breakfast. You think I believe any of the bullshit he feeds them at debriefs?"

Natasha's lips quirked into a fond smile at that. "No, sir."

"If he's salvageable, then it's got to be done by a professional who can really get in there and get that shit out of his head," Fury continued. He leveled his lone eye at her. "It's got to be done right and it's got to be done fast. If you could talk your way around what Loki's done, I'm sure you'd be in there now doing it."

"I can't," she admitted. If it was someone else, anyone else, perhaps she could get in there and try. If they had Selvig, maybe. But not Clint. It was far too personal, and she had been in there reacting to ghosts of the man she loved. Loki had warped him just enough that their shared history meant nothing right now. It was as keen as any blade between her ribs, a broken bone reset without anesthesia.

"Find someone who can," Fury instructed her. "We lost too many today." His eye fell to the white sheet, lips compressing into a thin line. He would regain his composure soon enough. He would use this, and Coulson would understand. He had told far too many lies of his own, and understood that sometimes there could be just barely a grain of truth behind the tales. That's what made it so believable, and what made him so effective as an agent, as well as Clint's and Natasha's handlers. Sometimes you had to bend the rules to get what you needed.

Natasha nodded sharply. "I know who to call."

***

With Cobb out of the dream share picture, Arthur had been more or less on his own. Cobb had slowly fallen apart since Mal's death, and out of respect for her and Professor Miles, Arthur had shored him up as best as he could. It wasn't until the Fischer job that he realized how far Cobb had deteriorated. Mal had tortured Arthur, but he'd swallowed down his rage at her out of respect for the grieving widower. He hadn't wanted to know the details of what had led to Mal's jump from the hotel window. Knowing would mean he had to act, and that would likely leave Philippa and James without both parents. Marie had taken care of the children while Cobb was traveling, looking in vain for something or someone that could clear his name, and Arthur privately thought that they were better off with their grandmother than with Cobb, who had grown more and more obsessed with an elusive dream that might not happen.

Except that it did.

In the two years since the inception, Cobb had apparently become the father he should have been to start with. He could hear it in Philippa and James' voices when he spoke with them over the phone, see it in their delighted faces when he visited them stateside. Marie had remained nearby, unwilling to be too far away in case something happened. She still didn't trust Cobb, and Arthur found it a very understandable sentiment.

There would always be whispers in the dream share community of what could and could not be done. Inception remained that elusive pipe dream in the community, despite his team's success. Everyone had kept their mouths shut about their part in the Fischer job, though it was obvious that it had worked. Following Maurice Fischer's funeral, Robert Fischer had slowly but surely dismantled his father's empire. He'd made a fortune doing it, and put forth very reasonable statements about taking the company in a new direction. There was emphasis on renewable energy sources and research, allowing Saito to snap up the choice bits that he wanted of Fischer-Morrow. If anyone suspected that Robert's entire mindset had been changed, that the demolition of Maurice Fischer's empire was not of Robert's conception, no one said a word. It went off without a hitch, and the man seemed to be better off for it.

Arthur drifted for a few months before picking up work again. Out of habit, he kept tabs on the people he knew. Eames and Yusuf returned to Mombasa, and Eames still was a major player in forges, thievery, and extraction throughout North Africa and parts of Europe. Ariadne completed her architecture degree and had picked up a job in an architecture firm. She'd sent him a few texts and called, feeling out if she could work in dream share again. They had spent six days together on the first level of the Fischer job waiting for the timer to run down, and Arthur had grown even closer to her since then. He had visited her in Paris, which she'd obviously enjoyed. They had a flirtatious relationship; he could have easily pushed things farther, but hadn't, and she seemed content to respect that boundary. It was force of habit on his part; alliances could be helpful, but very strong ties could become dangerous for everyone involved. He hadn't told her explicitly, but she seemed to understand it anyway. 

He was in Jamaica when he received a phone call from an unknown number. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, so he answered as he usually did. "Hello."

"Arthur," came a woman's voice. It took him a few moments to place it, and Arthur felt his blood run cold. "I have need of your expertise."

"Oh?" he asked, glad his voice was as smooth and calm as ever. He was instantly tense, losing the last few days' relaxation at once. So much for unwinding after a particularly risky extraction.

The assassin on the other end of the line didn't seem any happier to be talking with him than he was. "I have need of your special skills. Particularly arranging memories and removing suggestions that have been planted in the mind. Perhaps putting some new suggestions in."

"You're talking about inception," Arthur replied, sitting up abruptly. He wanted to snap at her that it was impossible, it couldn't be done. It would be a lie, but it wouldn't be the first time that he'd told that lie with a straight face. It was practically a requirement in his line of work, and part of the reason he didn't want to push things with Ariadne. She was still innocent, still capable of leading an ordinary life if he didn't keep circling her. Sooner or later, she would be dragged into his orbit, then all would really be lost for her.

"Perhaps," came the reply. Natalia sounded uncertain, which wasn't like her at all. "When can I meet you to discuss this? Time is of the essence."

"The cost..."

"Is no object," she interrupted smoothly. "I have SHIELD backing."

"Oh? Officially sanctioned?" he asked, intrigued. Who was he kidding? He was in this for the adrenaline rush as much as the money and the intellectual challenge.

"Any means necessary, and as fast as possible. It will be a challenge, and requires the best. I thought of you right away."

"Always full of compliments, Natalia," Arthur replied, smiling in spite of himself. Damn. He was caught in her web already, and he hadn't even heard the details of the job yet.

"It's not a compliment if it is truth," she replied, voice softening. "I'll be going by Natasha, by the way. Get whoever you need to work with you. We can come to you if we have to. It's important to me," she admitted. "I'm too close, and it matters. I need this to work," she added.

Well, he knew a good team, at least.

***

Ariadne was as delighted to work in dream share as Arthur had known she'd be, and appreciated the concern he had for her safety. She wasn't interested in international globetrotting while on the run, after all. Her interest was purely in building worlds and seeing how far she could take her skills. If Arthur really thought about it, SHIELD possibly would have a place for her. Natasha and the rest of her team would make sure she was protected from some of the less savory people in the dream share community. Arthur gave her a fond smile when she grasped his hand and tugged gently so she could kiss his cheek. He even turned his head slightly so that their lips brushed. He liked the flush that rose across her cheeks, and ignored Eames' smirk and Natasha's knowing grin. Yusuf remained as calm and quiet as ever, observing everything with detachment.

"What are we dealing with?" Yusuf asked, looking around the room. Arthur, Ariadne, and Eames were familiar to him, but he didn't recognize the others.

Natasha rose and passed out folders. "I am Natasha Romanoff of SHIELD, and I will be going in with you. This is classified information. For the moment, you are all vital consultants for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. You have the authorization to look through the contents of this dossier, some of which was redacted because you don't have a high enough clearance level. Depending on what we find when we go in, we may need to adjust that clearance level."

"Clearance level. As in national security?" Ariadne asked, her voice rising in curiosity. There was no fear there, and Arthur remembered how eager she had been to get involved in the Fischer job, regardless of its legality.

Natasha nodded and looked toward Nick Fury, who was standing at the head of the table in his dark clothing and long jacket, eye patch making him look even more forbidding. He remained silent, though he glowered at two other suited agents seated at the table. They hadn't introduced themselves, and Natasha made no move to do so. "Some of you might be aware of an incident in Stuttgart, Germany not too long ago." Arthur and Ariadne nodded, having seen footage on the news. Eames and Yusuf were unaware of what Natasha was referring to.

Opening a folder, she pointed to pictures in turn. "The timeline of events is this: Loki is an extradimensional being, one that for all intents and purposes has magic and the power of a god. He entered our world, destroying a base, taking an artifact of power, and placing several prominent agents and scientists under his direct mind control in the process. During the commotion in Stuttgart, a sizeable amount of iridium was stolen. He allowed himself to be captured in order to destabilize assets we have in play." Her hand came down over the main part of the folder she had put together in preparation for this, knowing that Arthur liked to be thorough and prepared before undertaking any job. "We got one of our own back, but he's still under Loki's control. Crude cognitive realignment didn't work."

"Cognitive realignment?" Eames echoed, flipping through the dossier, skipping over the blackened bits of Clint Barton's file.

"I knocked him on the head," Natasha said flatly. "It didn't work."

"If that's crude realignment," Yusuf began delicately, "what do you propose would be the finer method of getting your agent back?"

"This is where you come in," Natasha said, straightening. "We need Agent Barton back on our side and able to tell us what he knows of Loki's plans. It means breaking Loki's hold on his mind and reawakening his old self." She looked at each of them in turn, even the two agents that hadn't introduced themselves. "Everyone says that inception is impossible, but the mind is a very malleable thing. Entire lifetimes can be laid onto someone's mind, personalities grafted in, different triggers and behavior sets. If it _can_ be done, this means the damage to Clint Barton can be undone. I know Arthur is one of the best out there in dream share. And he'll have recruited the best that he knows for this."

The former inception team all sat back and contemplated that for a moment. "You need an emotional underpinning," Eames began. "You're not going to be able to undo magic without something strong enough to motivate the bloke to hang onto whatever we try to incept him with. Sorry, agents," he said, waving slightly at the two agents beside him and Nick Fury, "but duty alone is not enough."

"There's more than that," Natasha said, her voice calm. Nothing in her outward demeanor betrayed the emotional turmoil that simmered beneath the surface. She was far too well trained for that. It was nothing she wanted to reveal in front of two agents she was sure were plants from the World Security Council. The Council had never approved of the Avengers Initiative, and they likely would not approve of dream share either.

Fuck that. They needed Clint back.

When Natasha didn't say anything further, Ariadne looked between all the agents, sure she was missing something important. "What more is there? We don't know much about his personal life, if that's the part blacked out here. What about love?"

It was only the smallest of tics in Natasha's eye, something that most people would miss. Eames saw it, as well as the way she eyed the two nameless agents as if they couldn't be trusted. Her body language was very carefully controlled, but he could see that of the other agents in the room, Nick Fury was the one to be trusted. "No, nothing that simple, I would think," he drawled. Natasha looked at him directly, no emotion evident on her impassive face, but he could tell that she was grateful for the distraction.

"Who's going in with us?" Arthur asked, shifting the conversation. He didn't trust the agents he hadn't already worked with. "Whichever angle we take, we still need to know who's going in so we can adjust the plan properly."

"Ever practical," Eames snarked, grinning in his direction, spinning slightly in his seat.

"Someone has to be," Arthur replied, voice even.

Ariadne was going through the un-redacted portions of Clint's personnel file. "Where does he live?" she asked, cutting in before Eames could say something else.

"That's not relevant," Natasha replied. Her gaze had fallen onto the two nameless agents.

Ariadne shut the file as she shook her head. "I'm the architect, and there is a definite role in the atmosphere of each location that I'll have to build. In order to bring him back to who he used to be, I'm going to have to know what to build toward. I need to know who he is _now._ So yes, it is very relevant." Sensing that there was tension between Natasha and the two nameless agents, she leaned directly toward them from her place across the table. "You two. I didn't get your names."

One gave her a stony glare, and the other remained impassive. "We are here in an observer's capacity from the Council."

"Meaning you don't have names?" Ariadne asked. At the silence she received, she made a noise of frustration. "Then what are you doing here if you're useless to the planning? If this is so important and time sensitive, get the hell out and let us work. The more of my time you waste, the less I get done."

Before either of the two could reply, Nick Fury swooped in. "You heard the lady, gentlemen. You can report to the Council that steps are being taken to avert catastrophe."

The Council agent that had spoken before didn't even flinch. "You don't have authority to-"

"Oh for Christ's sake!" Ariadne snapped, banging the table with the flat of her hand. "Do you know Agent Barton?" She paused long enough for their silence to be an obvious answer. "No. Do you know Loki?" Another pause, and all she received was a stony stare. "No. Do you know what we need to do to get inside his head and rearrange its contents? I _know_ that's a no. Get out of our way and have your pissing contest elsewhere!"

Eames chuckled and picked up his folder as Fury hovered over the two Council agents to intimidate them into leaving. "I missed you, Ariadne. I really did."

She smiled and picked up her own folder. "I'm still not going to bed with you."

"Pity," he remarked, tsking and smirking in Arthur's direction. "I wager I'd be far more creative and imaginative."

The two agents reluctantly stood under Fury's glare. One muttered something that vaguely sounded like _The Council will hear of this_ before stalking out.

"Not even in your dreams," she said sweetly, turning to a particular page in Barton's dossier before turning toward Natasha. "There should be a place that he goes to often. Even with all the blacked out areas," she said, pointing to them. "A safe place."

"I can show you where he goes," Natasha said once the door was shut. "Whether he feels safe there or not, you'll have to decide for yourself."

"But–"

"I know a lot about him, he knows a lot about me," she interrupted, not unkindly. "But there are some things we simply do not discuss. _Ever."_

"So what is it between you two if not love?" Eames asked, openly curious.

"Love is for children," she told him in flat tones. "I owe him a debt."

"Mmm. Powerful indeed. We can work with that."

"You'd better," Fury snapped. "We don't have time for bullshit."

"That is an attitude we can work with," Eames replied with a grin.

"To save on time, we'll need to attack this from different angles," Arthur began, clicking open his pen and opening one of his notebooks to a fresh page. "There's the emotion, duty, and debts, of course. There's also eliminating the hold that Loki has on him."

"I'd want to see his blood work," Yusuf added, leaning forward and truly participating for the first time. "I'd need to see if there are changes within his chemistry, anything different for my own formulae to interact with."

"I'll take you around," Natasha said to Ariadne. "We'll start now, give you a feel for what you have to work with."

Arthur and Eames were left to start debating plans of attack, what sorts of footage they would need to see in order to pull apart the differences between Clint originally, and after his "possession" by Loki. Yusuf was escorted to the medical wing of the helicarrier, and Natasha brought Ariadne to Clint's official quarters on the carrier.

It was bare bones, hardly anything personal of note in it. Changes of clothing, three books and a blank notebook were all the contents in the bunk. Spare weaponry was stored in the armory. Ariadne took in the bleak, empty atmosphere and then looked to Natasha. "This isn't where he feels safe. This isn't him."

Natasha was leaning against the wall. She could remember the last few times they'd been in this particular bunk together, how they had claimed the space as theirs. It had been fevered kisses, smashing lips and teeth and tongues together, his hand sliding the zipper down on her suit and mouthing the exposed skin. It had been her dropping gracefully to her knees and taking him into her mouth to get him off quickly so he could feel like himself again, not some numbered agent doing something out of duty.

"This is just a place," she told Ariadne finally. "Mine doesn't look that much different." Her room didn't even have books in it.

Ariadne blew out a breath. "Where on this thing does he go?"

Looking up toward the vent, Natasha's lips quirked into a smile. "I don't know where all his perches are. But there are a few I do know of, some drops where we leave notes for one another. Personal codes."

It felt like things were slowly slotting into place. "You're not supposed to have more than a working relationship," Ariadne said slowly. "Just fellow agents working together."

The look Natasha gave her was piercing. "What matters is the mission, getting it done and reporting back to superior officers. Not hearts, souls, or _feelings,_ not anything that can be manipulated or compromised."

Ariadne reached out and touched Natasha's arm gently, suppressing the _I'm sorry_ that she wanted to say. Ariadne couldn't even begin to guess what Natasha had to sacrifice in her line of work. "Let's see some of those drops, then. I'll keep all of that in mind."

Natasha gave her a sharp nod, then quickly moved through the helicarrier. Ariadne soon lost track of where they were going, which she assumed was rather the point. They paused in what seemed like random places: a supply closet that had a vent in the ceiling and sturdy shelving that could be used like a ladder for someone with acrobatic skills, an empty office near the engine room, a corner of the range where they used to practice. "Out of the way spots," Ariadne commented. "Places no one would see him or notice him. He likes to go unnoticed. To see everything without being seen."

"His codename is Hawkeye," Natasha replied, a ghost of a smile haunting her lips.

"Oh? What's yours?"

"Black Widow."

Ariadne blinked in surprise, then took a closer look at her. When she saw the hourglass design on Natasha's belt buckle, she laughed. "You enjoy that, don't you? Playing off the expectations they have of you? Making fools of them."

Lips quirked up into a smile, Natasha gave her a nod. "I would imagine that you enjoy the same thing."

"I'm a petite woman in the male-dominated world of design. I am very good at what I do, and I refuse to be overlooked." She flashed Natasha an almost playful smile. "I can be a bitch if I have to be."

Natasha laughed a little, startled in spite of herself. "Architecture is very difficult field to excel at. If you're working with Arthur, you must be top notch."

"So I hear," Ariadne replied with a half smile. Arthur had taught her what he knew of dream architecture and gave her an overview of its uses and history in scant detail. The rest she had played with on her own when translating the designs in her head to the actual dreams, and she had always suspected there was far more she could do if she wasn't constrained by real world physics. "Have you known him long?"

"There was a job a few years back. I was there in a real world capacity, he was there in a dream world capacity." Natasha shrugged a little, starting to lead her from the range. "When it was clear neither of us were there to kill the other, we started discussing the jobs we were actually there for. They wound up dovetailing rather nicely, actually. Still, I don't think he appreciates knowing what I do for a living."

"A SHIELD agent, you mean?"

"Covert operations mean a great many things," Natasha replied, heading back to the conference room. "It's usually classified."

"I noticed from Agent Barton's file," Ariadne remarked.

"Mine is thicker and has a lot more redacted," Natasha admitted. "This place is not where he would be most comfortable, but there wouldn't be time enough to really show you where he would prefer to go when not on the helicarrier."

"There would be if it was under PASIV," Ariadne pointed out reasonably. "Five minutes can feel like an hour or more in the dream. As long as it doesn't make you sick, I can change the dream around you to shape it to what you remember of the place. I've learned how to keep the more aggressive projections at bay while doing something like that."

Natasha made a detour along the way, though Ariadne was so lost that she didn't even notice it. "This would be perfect for what you need to do."

***

While Natasha and Ariadne were hooked up via PASIV, Agent Sitwell watching over their sleeping bodies, Arthur, Eames and Agent Maria Hill went through the surveillance footage that SHIELD had collected. She was scarily efficient, and didn't have any response to Eames' comment that she was like a female version of Arthur. She kept scrolling through the video footage of Loki's arrival that had been archived to SHIELD's servers. Eames stopped joking when he saw the scepter touch Clint's chest. "Wait, wait. Back that up and turn up the volume, will you? He says something there."

"We won't have any better audio. The original data stream was corrupted soon after the evacuation protocols were put into place."

Eames leaned closer and watched Loki's lips as best as he could. "You have a part? What in the bloody hell does that mean?"

"No idea," Maria replied, keeping frustration from her tone. "He showed up and ten minutes later the entire place fell apart. He next pops up on the radar in Stuttgart, and we don't have a clear lead on where they took Dr. Selvig or any of our men until they came to attack the helicarrier."

She queued up the surveillance footage from the carrier, and Eames tracked all of Clint's movements carefully. "He never once looked into the containment cells to get Loki. That wasn't his aim."

"He didn't go for the armory or the archives, either," Arthur noted.

"It was another distraction, but this time he got caught," Maria told them. "He won't tell us a thing now. That's what you're here for."

"It'll be a bloody miracle," Eames sighed, leaning back in his chair as he caught sight of Clint and Natasha beginning to fight on the screen. "Christ. He's trying to kill her."

"They had worked together out in the field, with one of the highest clearance rates of our agents." Under different circumstances, Maria would have said that with pride. "He's come back from impossible conditions and has always been ready to head back out for more. It didn't matter if we didn't know what he was facing. He was ready to do it."

Eames nodded absently, then looked over at Arthur. "Duty is good as a foundation for bringing it all back, but I'm willing to bet that's what Loki used. You can see it in how he moves there, fighting comrades as if they were enemies. His loyalties shifted to Loki, that part or whatever he was talking about. Distance isn't the key with that scepter, it's the command itself. So if the command was to take part in Loki's plans, then that's the driving force in his mind right now."

"We need to replace that. It really does need to be inception."

"Afraid so."

Maria looked from one to the other, remaining silent as they worked it out. "Director Fury instructed me to help you with whatever you need. Agents you can work with, access to high clearance levels, getting you whatever you need."

"Ariadne's working on the locations, I'm sure," Arthur told Maria. He looked over his notes with a faint air of discontent. "Usually we have months to prepare and gather as much information as possible before attempting something this dangerous. Extracting information on Loki's plans is one thing. That can be done. But to reverse whatever Loki did to him, not even knowing for sure what was done in the first place..." Arthur tapped his pen on his Moleskine, lips compressing unhappily. "I know we'll all do what we can, but I don't want to make any guarantees."

"Nothing is an exact science," Maria told him with a nod. "But whatever of him that you can save, do so. He's a good agent. I know he'd do whatever it took to save anyone else on this carrier if he could. He couldn't, and wouldn't, guarantee a damn thing," she added with a faint smile. "It used to drive Director Fury crazy, but he got results. He brought in rogue agents, talked down the wary, and could drive anyone to drink. His heart was always in the right place. He knew how people worked."

Arthur and Eames stared at Maria. "That's why he was taken, then," Arthur murmured. "Because he would know the people that were necessary for your operation. He would know who would be able to stop him. Take them out of the equation, and who would stop Loki?"

"Right now? Nobody."

"So we have motive as to why he was picked," Eames said, watching the footage on the small screen. "It doesn't give us a good enough handle on how to get him back."

Ariadne and Natasha returned to the conference room at that point, PASIV in hand. "Well, that's where I come in," she told them confidently. "I can at least create locations where he will feel comfortable. With the amount of time we have," she continued, putting the PASIV on the conference room table, "I'm not going to be able to build models or sketches. _I_ will have to do the construction as we go, so by necessity it's got to be a one level job."

"That's not going to work for an inception!" Eames protested. "The idea won't be nuanced enough, won't have the time to really develop or permeate his consciousness."

"I've got the locations," Ariadne repeated, tapping her temple. "And I can build it as fast as we need it and probably without tipping him off that we're in there. What I can probably do is give the _appearance_ of multiple levels."

Arthur stared at her. "Wait. Can you do that?"

"She tried it on me," Natasha offered. "I have no idea what she was doing but it felt rather impressive at the time."

"It's going by half steps, using the dream architecture and symbolism," Ariadne told Arthur, eyes lighting up as she spoke. She was absolutely certain of what she could do, and it showed. "I can make it work."

"But the idea, then," Arthur said, looking to Eames. "It has to be simple enough to grasp in a single level."

"What? Like be your own man?" the forger snarked.

"Why not?" Ariadne asked, pulling out the sketchbook from her abandoned place at the table. She opened it up to a blank page and turned it sideways so that she could use the longer length to demonstrate what she meant. "Here. If I draw it like this to try to show you what I'm thinking of doing..."

Starting at the left hand side of the page, she sketched out a straight line with a few spiky lines attached to the end of it. "We recreate the helicarrier here, damage and the dead, all of it." Natasha and Maria looked at her intently as she drew, not sure where she was going with this. "Then Eames can forge Loki," she continued, ignoring his startled "What now?" as she drew a large circle on her timeline. "This will be the point where I start drawing him down further. It's got to go by half steps, because you'll need me to be continually building and creating the labyrinth as we go. There can't be multiple dreamers for distinct levels."

Ariadne drew a sloping line downward from her circle. "If we stage a secondary attack on the carrier, as if Loki was coming back for him, that's how we can draw him down in a natural way, slide him further and deeper into this dream, using the descent into the helicarrier or a fall of some kind to drop his consciousness."

"Start planting the idea that Loki doesn't want or need him," Eames said, picking up on her intent right away. Arthur took notes in his cramped, cribbed writing, brows furrowing in thought as they spoke.

" Loki has said he's important," Arthur pointed out.

"They're in separate places now. Things could change. Perhaps you could go in first and try to extract what the relationship was like," Ariadne suggested. "But from what I've seen, the kind of person he was, there is no way Loki could have taken him over without a huge whammy of magic."

"Whammy?" Maria asked, lips quirking in spite of herself.

"However you would describe a huge dose," Ariadne returned, grinning. "Because from what I've seen of Natasha's memories and heard about him, that man is even more headstrong than the ones I've worked with, let me tell you."

Arthur snorted, though it was easy to see the smile gracing his lips as he looked up at her. "How else can I keep up with you?"

"Was I talking about you?" she teased back, grinning. She tapped the sketchbook to refocus their attention. "So, there can be a literal drop from the carrier, down someplace. I don't know, pick something. No one knows where Loki is, and he's all but said he split his forces so that he wouldn't know where anything is. I can build something up here," she added squiggle lines to the slope, then drew a line and leveling it out. "This is where we stage a rescue and counter attack by Loki, who will graciously let us take him because he's useless. Or something to that effect. I'll let the master figure that one out."

Eames chuckled and refrained from making a comment, appreciating the planning. She had taken such a backseat during the Fischer job planning stages, absorbing the nuances of dream share. He had done most of the work with the actual inception development, but it seemed as though she had a good feel for people and a knack for plotting.

It was good that she did, in case plans had to be changed on the fly like they were in the Fischer job. They would have only one chance to do this, and only one level to do it in. He didn't know much about Loki's personality, but he could see that the man was charismatic. There was an underlying desperation and rage there, and he would have to channel more of his own personality than usual for this.

"Natasha will have to bring him somewhere safe," Ariadne continued, making her straight line a wavy one. "At least, a place he _should_ feel safe, really driving that point home. Once we get there, we pull him into the dream a little more, like a half step into the layer," she said, drawing her pen down again at an angle. "We could recreate a scenario he has been through before. The thing is to reinforce that no matter what Loki's done with him, he was just being used. He should _hate_ that."

"And if he doesn't?" Arthur asked, curious. She was making this up as she went along, but so far the overall theme seemed to be holding together well.

"We force the choice, then," Ariadne replied, drawing two diverging paths from that point in her timeline. "Here," she said, tapping the straight line, "is where he seems to be responding to the suggestion that he's worthless to Loki and can be his own man. His thoughts should be his own, not someone else's to control. He should have leeway. The underlying theme, if it's worked so far, is that his mind is his own to control."

Ariadne drew over her downward sloping line. "If that isn't working, we take him down another half step, send him somewhere else that should feel safe. Do it again. Keep reinforcing that he's a free agent, has willpower, however you want to refine that concept. While this is technically all one layer of dreaming, I can put in enough nuances and so that this would be the equivalent of three levels in. It should be deep enough to really let the idea take."

"Aside from depth," Eames pointed out, "the concept should resonate well enough with who he used to be that whatever threads of control Loki have are undone. Or at least loosened."

"Should is not the same as _will,"_ Arthur pointed out. He turned to Maria. "You'll still need safeguards in case this doesn't work. If we haven't erased Loki's hold on his mind, there's no telling what else we might uncover."

"You're assuming there are traps," Natasha said quietly. She and Maria exchanged a glance. Natasha's was questioning, and Maria nodded. "There are places around the world, different divisions or secret projects. If there are traps laid in, there are always ways to trigger them. Code phrases, particular people."

"You know how it's done, then," Arthur said, watching her closely.

"Yes. I know how they make and remake you, layer on personalities or lifetimes, change who you are and what you know about yourself. It _can_ be done."

"You'd said that earlier," Eames commented. He waited a beat. "It was done to you."

"Repeatedly," Natasha confirmed. "Triggers are multisensory, usually. Pieces of music with code phrases on top of them. Visual cues along with different phrases. Sometimes they use different drugs to help solidify the triggers and personality overlays. There's a science to it, and it's been perfected over many years."

"Then do we have to be careful not to trigger _you_ as we try to untangle Barton's mind?" Arthur asked frankly.

"My mind has been cleared out," Natasha replied with a sharp shake of her head. "I'm myself, and have been for years. I've tried using the old triggers on myself," she continued, ignoring Maria's incredulous look, "and nothing's happened. Most of those lifetimes are still there, lingering like ghosts, but not very clear. I hope the same can be said of Clint's actions."

"I think the framework is sound," Eames told them. He looked to the footage of Loki's initial appearance and attack, the sallow skin and hollow eyes, the way he tripped over his feet and looked almost sick. "I have an idea."

***  
***


	2. Time To Fly

Clint was still strapped to the bed. The redhead - _Natasha,_ one corner of his mind supplied with a snarl, _or Nadia, or Natalie or Natalia or Tasha_ \- had come back a few times, quietly sitting beside him. She hadn't said much, merely looked at him as if expecting him to say something. There was an itch from that corner of his mind, trying to push its way forward. But he had to contain it, because...

He couldn't remember why. But it was important, as he was important, for there was a plan ready. He was vital to its completion, the heart of the entire convoluted plot for Loki to seize control for Thanos. Thanos was...

There was an Other in Loki's mind, twisting him from the inside out. He had seen it when Loki peered into his eyes, though Loki hadn't realized it at the time. The thing that had allowed Loki to see into him was much like the portal that the Tesseract had opened. A doorway could be opened on either side, and as Loki peered inside of him, Clint had seen into Loki as well. The Other was a horrid, grinning thing feasting on pain and terror, only too glad to apply more heat to a Loki stretched out on the rack in front of Thanos. Death was the only thing that mattered, death and destruction as an offering to Thanos.

 _I can give you an entire realm to devour,_ Loki had cried, eyes bleeding and sores weeping. The Other had paused, knives upraised, his eyes piercing.

_Give it to me, and I may spare you._

Clint could see his own pain staring back at him, the solitude of the circus and the gaping maw where a family should have been. The only comforts he had had for years were his bow and quiver of arrows, his ability to hit the mark every single time. It was a meditation, a prayer, the only solace he could have. He recognized it in others, knew the loneliness as a different kind of pain, a desperation that could lead anyone to do anything just to make it stop.

He had seen it in Natasha's eyes, the way she dropped her empty gun at his feet and stood in front of his nocked arrow. _Do it now,_ she had said, a slight accent to her voice. She had been pretending to be a Frenchwoman at the time. _Now, while you have the chance. You won't have another. They won't let it happen._

But he had put his bow aside. _There's another way to finish this,_ he had said, and contacted Coulson.

In the basement room, mind thrown wide open, Clint had felt his entire self turn inside out, and he lost which way was up.

Loki had smiled, a desperate, pained kind of smile. He hadn't realized that Clint had seen more than he should have. "You have heart," he said, and it was then Clint that knew his life had truly begun again.

There was still that nagging part of his mind, the part that refused to stay quiet and follow Loki's plan. _Are you kidding? This is_ wrong, _he's_ wrong, get him out of your head! He doesn't belong there!

Clint breathed deeply, trying to focus on creating a screen in his mind. It was wavering a little, weakened by distance and a loss of purpose. There had been an expectation, though he was losing track of what he wanted to happen.

"You've been compromised," the redhead told him, snapping his focus to her. The calm he'd been trying to create was lost. "There's nothing left for us to do."

He wanted to ask what she had expected, to pit herself against a god, but the words didn't come. He stared at her, trying to figure out who she was supposed to be. Sometimes he knew her for who she was: Natasha Romanoff, the spy that he had brought in against orders. There was trust there, belonging on a level more than physical, which was most important in their line of work. At other times her blank expression and green eyes held no meaning for him. He pulled at the wrist restraints, the urge to reach out for her difficult to resist even if he didn't understand it. "You're going to have to kill me," he told her as she rose from the seat. "Do it now, while you have the chance. You won't have another."

She froze, gaze locked to his. Then, faster than he thought possible, she was gripping his jaw painfully tight. She searched his gaze, but Clint didn't know what she was looking for. He was hollowed from the inside out, a marionette with cut strings. It was uncomfortable, painful; a gaping wound that hadn't been allowed to heal. The blue screen seemed to be breaking down in the face of her green gaze, which was painful. He needed Loki to give the next set of directions in the plan. He didn't have a heart otherwise.

"There's another way to finish this," she told him, eyes bright. "I know there is."

And then she let him go, disappearing from the room.

There was something important there, something he was missing. He had to hold tightly to the blue screens, even as they faded. How else could he be whole again?

Some time after that, but an explosion rocked the helicarrier. It began to list to the side, whatever had stabilized its descent once again broken. Anxious, Clint began to pull at his restraints. They were still looped into place, scraping at the skin painfully. He grit his teeth and tried to pull past the pain, but the leather didn't give.

_Natasha laughed, taking her belt from its loops and then reaching for his. "Does this count as misappropriation of SHIELD property?" she teased, reconfiguring the belts to tie his wrists to the headboard. The nanomesh had more give than his leather, but he still couldn't move from his bound position. Natasha straddled his waist, zipper on her catsuit pulled low enough for him to see the hollow between her breasts. He wanted to nestle his head between them, lose himself in whatever she said or did._

_"Misappropriate away," Clint laughed, tugging at his bonds. There was no need for safe words with her. They knew each other inside and out, and there wasn't anything more intimate than trust for them. He might want the sex, too, but what they had was more than that. This particular incident was more because he needed release, he needed limits, he needed her to constrain him. The job had gone very wrong very fast, and he needed to know she'd be there if he fell._

_"You're mine, Clint," she said in a low growl that went straight to his groin. "I'm going to have to remind you of that. I'm the only one you listen to."_

Clint recoiled as if struck, looking around wildly. Something was wrong, and it was more than just the helicarrier that was listing to the side.

He could see flashes of blue light through the small window to the door of his cell. Loki was here, it had to be. Clint wanted to cry out in both relief and dismay. Loki had said that his plans were precisely laid out, had to be followed to the letter. Anything that deviated from the careful control would send the entire thing unravelling.

Coming to rescue Clint wasn't part of the plan.

When the door blasted off its hinges, Loki staggered into the room. His eyes were still sunken but they were wild with anger. Hate seemed to fuel him, and he gripped the scepter tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. That gaze fell onto Clint, and it took everything in him not to quail. He wasn't worthy of Loki anymore, that much was clear. "I'm sorry," Clint said, tugging ineffectually at the restraints. "I tried to follow the plans, and I almost managed to get back out..."

"Almost isn't good enough," Loki snarled, and Clint flinched. "If there wasn't equipment here that I needed, I wouldn't be here for you." With a wave of the scepter, the restraints dissolved into nothingness. "Get up and get moving!"

"Yessir," Clint said, moving quickly. "Do you need the access codes?" he asked, hoping to make up for his failure.

Loki straightened and fixed him with an imperious glare. "I can simply take what I need, mortal, much like the iridium. You did _that_ correctly. Can you only take simple directions, then?"

"Selvig got everything he needed," Clint snapped, spine straightening to military precision. He chafed, remembering having to wait as Loki did his grandstanding routine, hating to sit still so low to the ground. He had felt too exposed, even underground, and it had thankfully been over quickly. "He's on the move and will build the device you want. Most of the pieces are already assembled, and it'll only take a few hours to get everything started. The portal will open on schedule."

The grin Loki shot him was manic, full of teeth that seemed far too sharp and dangerous. He nodded toward the hallway. "Get the others, then. I still have need of _them."_

That stung more than Clint would have ever admitted. _I have a place,_ that angry part of his mind told him, pushing against Loki's commands. "Yessir," Clint said instead, giving him a stiff salute before going to the cells.

The helicarrier listed again with another barrage of fire and explosions. He saw Loki stumble and turned to assist him. "Not this way, you fool," Loki hissed, pushing himself upright along the wall. "Do as I say, you worthless mortal!"

Clint did an abrupt about face, expression stony as he moved with clockwork precision. It was all he was good for. He couldn't be the heart, not when he'd fucked up so badly already. He knew how important this was to Loki and what would happen to him if he failed. There would be blades and blood and heat, the slide of claws into soft belly fat. He should have known better.

It didn't take much effort to break open the cells, to see three men and the petite woman inside. He didn't recognize them, but didn't have to. It could have been another branch of Loki's army that he had been gathering. Others who weren't expendable as he seemed to be. Their eyes weren't that same fevered Tesseract blue, but his own weren't anymore either. Proximity should change that.

"He needs you," he told them, no inflection in his voice, no emotion on his face. _He needs_ you _but not me._ Clint wasn't sure why he resented it so much, why he felt so angry at the thought of being used and tossed aside.

"Where are we going?" the petite woman asked, her expression still blank and somewhat absent looking.

"I don't know," Clint replied. "I don't need to know."

"Our orders?" one asked him.

"The Tesseract will show us where we need to go."

They followed Clint as he moved unerringly through the maze of the helicarrier. It rocked back and forth as if hit by large missiles, or aircraft were crashing into it. Only the woman lost her footing; absently, Clint wondered if she had been support staff prior to being brought into Loki's service. While he had told Selvig there were plenty of people that hated SHIELD, he'd had just enough presence of mind not to bring any of those players with him to the carrier. It was the only way he had been able to fight Loki's control, much like the nonfatal shot to Fury when the Tesseract was stolen, or the lies he'd told about it when questioned. Each act of defiance, no matter how tiny, brought the full weight of the Tesseract's will crashing down over him. Clint was surprised that even thinking about it now didn't tighten the mental restraints.

 _You belong to me,_ came Natasha's voice from the back of his mind. It warred with the irresistible hold the Tesseract had on him, cold blue tendrils creeping throughout his entire being.

Approaching the sound of blast damage and cries of pain, Clint saw Loki using the scepter to destroy the helicarrier's bridge, a sickly grin on his face. He certainly seemed to be gleeful about it, showboating his skill. Normally Clint would snark, say he was overcompensating, but the Tesseract's control tightened. No disrespect to Loki was allowed, and it wasn't worth the wicked headache it gave him to fight it.

Loki looked toward Clint with more disdain than usual. "At last, something useful from this excursion."

"Where are we headed?" Clint asked. The bridge was full of shattered glass, bodies thrown around and sparks flying. He couldn't see Fury or Hill, and hoped they were fine. It looked as though Loki had taken his advice to scatter the Avengers before they were formed.

Loki didn't bother to answer, still blasting apart the command center. "Ready the plane for our departure. Think you can do at least that much?" he sneered.

"Yessir," Clint replied woodenly, hate seething beneath the Tesseract's enforced compliance. He turned sharply on his heel, repressing a snarl and transferring his rage to snap at the rescued combatants "With me."

Clint moved to pilot one of the jets after securing the others in the plane. "We await Loki," he told them in flat tones, and they didn't respond. He tried not to resent it.

Finally Loki stumbled toward the plane, a death's head grin on his face. "They'll be fighting the monster for some time," he said, climbing aboard. When Clint didn't take off right away, he snarled "What are you waiting for, you fool? Ragnarok?!"

He couldn't reply that this was what it felt like, that he was already crafting the perfect arrow to add to his arsenal that would harm Loki. So many lost details were coming back to him now, and even proximity to that damn scepter wasn't reinforcing its hold. Perhaps the blasts had depleted its energy. Perhaps Loki was concentrating more on the new recruits than on him. Either way, it almost felt like he could break free.

When the first missile hit the plane, Clint almost took his hands off the yoke to let them freefall toward the Atlantic Ocean. It was a surprise when the Tesseract didn't tighten its hold on him the way he expected it would. When he did yank back on the yoke, it felt stuck in place. He couldn't stop the freefall, and panic started to set in. He couldn't help the "Holy fuck!" that slipped out, just as he couldn't help the "Tasha" that he had said before she had completely knocked him out.

Something wasn't right here. Something wasn't adding up.

Loki came forward, moving unerringly despite the way the air currents wanted to toss the plane to and fro. "Can't you do anything right, you worthless mortal?" he sneered, touching his scepter to the controls. Instead of sparking, everything seemed to even out. The others in the back remained strapped in place, looking straight ahead. There was no support from that quarter at all.

Clint opened his mouth to speak, but there was the shadow of another. Looking for it, he imagined he could see red through the glass.

_Natasha. Of course she'd come for me..._

The helicarrier's turret spit out bullets, and it was all he could do to avoid them. Natasha had good aim, and she wasn't pulling any punches right now. She thought he was compromised, and he was, which meant that she had to treat him like any other enemy, no matter their personal history. He couldn't expect any less of her, and would do the same if their positions were reversed. But part of him wanted to scream her name, to make her see that he wasn't completely compromised, there had to be a way to bring him back. She had to try harder than this. _He_ had to try harder than this.

But he didn't know how. He'd never been so completely hollowed out, completely remade in someone else's image. How could he even begin again? What damage had he done in Loki's name?

The plane lost altitude and fuel pressure, and it was all Clint could do to make sure that they had a relatively stable crash landing. Loki was thrown and connected badly with the back of the plane. He actually went _through_ it, scepter and all, and Clint half rose out of his chair before he even really knew what he was doing. The others in the back were all standing up as well, and one slim man that Clint didn't recognize asked "What just happened?"

"Stay here," Clint commanded. The man nodded, and Clint saw that his eyes were brown. He wasn't under Loki's control anymore. In fact, the others didn't seem to have their eyes covered over in icy blue. How could they have gotten free?

"Wait. What's happening?" another man asked. He was tall, thickly built, with blond hair and blue eyes. Clint didn't remember seeing him before, but was willing to allow that his rage at Loki may have blinded him. This man looked about in confusion, an odd accent to his voice that Clint couldn't place. "I don't remember how I got here. What the hell?"

Now that he mentioned it, the others in the back of the plane looked around in confusion. "I don't remember," the other man told him, then turned to look at Clint. "Sir?"

Clint fell back into his seat. He could see Natasha's plane above them, and half heard the small woman ask "Is that Spain?"

He didn't register the non sequitur. If they were close to Spain, they were over the Mediterranean, and there were places nearby where he had once hid from enemy agents. Loki couldn't know about them, hadn't seen that deeply into his mind. He couldn't have flown there, even on autopilot, which meant that something else was going on. He looked around, for the first time seeing the dark marks left from where they'd skidded across streets and thrown cars back from the crash zone. People scurried away like ants. He didn't see where Loki had gone.

He'd been left again.

Clint watched Natasha land her plane in the central square of the city. Like everything she did, it was accurate and graceful. "Where are we?" he muttered, unbuckling his restraints and going to check on the others in the back. They didn't seem to be harmed at least, and the woman was already gingerly exiting the plane through the Loki-shaped hole in the back. "It definitely looks like Estepona..."

Natasha left her plane and approached them, gun in hand. "I guess Loki left you," she said, tone flat. "What? Not essential to the plan any longer?"

"No, not especially," came Loki's voice above the square. He was perched on the roof of one of the buildings lining the square. He had the same arrogant stance that he'd had in Stuttgart, scepter perched in hand. "But you were right. I needed a distraction, and now you've served your purpose." The smile he shot Natasha was sharp edged and malicious, triggering a protective instinct deep in Clint's chest. "You're welcome to him, little spider. See if you get anything useful out of him, or if I leave him to carve you open."

Clint found himself reaching for a bow he hadn't realized he was carrying, and snapping it open with a practiced flick of his arm. "No," he said, voice tight and angry. "You don't touch her," he said, reaching for a quiver of specialty arrows that wasn't there.

"What do you want to do?" the agent with dark hair asked Clint. The blond was nowhere to be seen, and Clint could see the petite woman reaching for a gun. There had been more agents, hadn't there? Clint didn't know where they had gone, but there was the press of uncertainty now. He was supposed to stay loyal to Loki, though he couldn't remember why. "I need you to think, sir," the tall man pressed, each syllable enunciated clearly. He handed over a quiver of arrows that Clint grabbed and strapped into place. "I need you to think. What do you want to do?"

 _Natasha will know what to do,_ Clint thought, then realized he said the words aloud. The sense of creeping wrongness was even more pronounced, the blue screen in his mind difficult to recreate.

The man didn't seem terribly surprised by that. If anything, he nodded and looked relieved.

Leaving the plane, Clint saw Natasha shooting at Loki with her Glock. Loki was too far away for the widow's bites to be effective, and he knew she would be in danger as soon as her ammunition ran out. She was good, but there was no way she could defeat magic with none of her own.

The arrow flew from his bow before he could consciously think about it, hitting Loki straight in the chest. He spun backward, then fell over the far side of a peaked roof top. Clint was sprinting across the square as fast as he could, the tall man and petite woman falling into step as he ran. By the time Clint got to Natasha's side, the blond was already there. She had her gun in hand and pointed at Clint's face, tension etched into her stance.

"Tasha," Clint gasped. For a split second he felt like himself, like he recognized the place around him and the woman she was. "Help me."

In response, she pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness.

***

They were in Estepona, a coastal city in the Andalusian principality of Spain. There were myriad beaches; myriad influences left over from Celts, Romans, Spaniards, and Moors; and it was relatively far away from the major tourist centers. Clint vaguely remembered being in the area years ago, and the two main centers were near the pub scene, the old quarter, and the ports. He had hidden in the old quarter, because the buildings were easier to scale and he liked the narrow, winding streets.

"I remember this place," Clint murmured when he was conscious. He was cuffed to the wrought iron headboard, and his lips quirked into a smile as he tugged gently. The cuff didn't give. "I remember this, too."

Natasha sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed. "What do you remember?"

He frowned, trying to remember though a blue haze what his thoughts were supposed to be. "Loki," he said finally, frown deepening. "He should be here."

"He's not," Natasha replied curtly. "He left you to my tender mercies, as he called it. He said you were useless to him now. Do you remember that?"

There had been the helicarrier attack, the plane ride, and the crash. Yes, he remembered that, as well as the sickly burn beneath his skin at the wrongness of it all, that he had done everything asked of him. "I do," Clint admitted finally, bitterness thick in his voice. "I remember."

"What else do you remember?" she asked, leaning forward.

Clint could almost imagine what it would feel like, to draw the zipper down and lick her skin as it was exposed, the way her touch would feel, the press of her body against his. He also knew that Loki had intended for him to subvert his own feelings, to flay her skin from her bones if he wasn't good enough. He remembered wanting to please, wanting so desperately to belong, to let the Tesseract fill him up and give him purpose.

Something must have shown in his face, because she was there in an instant, palm sliding against the rough stubble of his jaw. "Tell me." Her voice was a gentle whisper, the soft tone they only used with each other.

"He'll ask me to hurt you," Clint managed to say, tongue thick in his mouth. There was relief in admitting that even as the ghost of the Tesseract's control howled that he was a traitor to Loki. He belonged to Loki, body and soul, and if he was thrown away it was to serve Loki's will. Clint had to obey, had no will of his own.

"Tell me," she urged, cupping his face in her hands. _You belong to me,_ she had said once, doing exactly this. The look on her face was just as intense, just as open. She trusted him more than anyone else in the world. Even Coulson and Fury didn't rank high enough in her esteem, and Clint had always known that.

In tangled, broken sentences, Clint told Natasha about the blue screen that seemed to come down in his mind as soon as he had been touched with the scepter, separating his thoughts from the pull of command and the need to please. He told her of the warring instincts that still were trapped within him, the need to follow orders and let someone else take control. "I've been compromised," he admitted finally, turning away from her. "Might as well drum me out."

"So have I," Natasha told him, voice carefully modulated. She tilted her head when he turned to look back in confusion. "You know what I've done, and what I haven't done. I have red in my ledger. I need to wipe that out."

There were so many things they didn't say with words, or couldn't. It had become like shorthand, a code of situations that they alluded to. That confused anyone listening in, but also meant that their communications could be imprecise. Right now, he wanted Natasha to take him into her arms and rock him, tell him that what she loved him, that he wasn't actually compromised.

"How many did I...?" He couldn't even say the words.

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself," Natasha insisted, sliding her hands down over his shoulders. "That was Loki, not you."

"It's still there," Clint told her. "I feel it, that kind of control just waiting for me."

"But he's done with you. He said you're useless to him now. He doesn't need you. You can do your own work again. Loki doesn't control you."

The words felt right, but there was still the vague sense of discontent. Something wasn't right with this, and it itched beneath his skin. "But..."

"But what?"

"Then why does he need Selvig? The portal is almost done. It only needs a power source similar to the Tesseract in composition to get it started."

Natasha rocked back next to him, a musing expression on her face. That felt right. Clint could hold onto that, let her put the pieces together. This entire situation left him feeling hollow, wrung out to dry. She was still clearly herself, and he could trust in her. He was the assassin that killed selected targets from the background, the one who wasn't really expected to have ideas about what was going on even if he did have them.

She laced her fingers through his, squeezing tightly. "Selvig must not have found a good enough source yet. Reports all state that Selvig is something of a perfectionist, so he wouldn't move unless he had everything set up the way he wants it."

"I've worked with him. He anthropomorphizes the Tesseract. Calls it a 'she,' acts like it has a mind of its own and is intelligent."

Lifting an eyebrow at him, Natasha asked, "Does it?"

Put on the spot, Clint froze. He wanted to fall back under the spell, let someone else take control. But he couldn't. Natasha needed him. He was the one that knew how the Tesseract worked, and he was the one that would be able to help her.

"Yes," he said finally. "It sees into you, shows you what you need. Selvig wanted knowledge, so that's what he got." Clint's lips twisted in a self mocking manner. "It gave me a master, someone to answer to so I don't have to take control."

"You don't have to take control of the situation," Natasha said, pulling their linked hands into her lap. "But your thoughts are your own. Your will is your own. And if you choose to follow someone else's lead, it's still your choice. That's what I want for you."

"Sounds good," Clint rasped, leaning in closer. Their foreheads touched, and it seemed more intimate than a kiss, more of a caress than a hand across bare flesh.

"Do you feel it still there? Still a presence you can't get away from?"

The pull of the Tesseract clearly wanted him to lie to her. "Yes."

"Then we keep going," she murmured, turning her head. Clint looked beyond her and saw that the petite woman was there in the doorway. Behind her were the two taller men from the plane that he had flown, though he didn't know why they would be in Estepona with him. "One more ought to do it," Natasha told them.

"Where to?" the woman asked, looking between them both.

Natasha smiled and let her hand fall from Clint's. "A place where Loki has never been and will never have a hold over you."

"He's been inside my head, Tasha," Clint told her, concerned. "He'll know every safe place I have. There's no escaping his control."

Her smile was predatory, which actually comforted Clint. "Of course there are ways to escape his control. I got the best of him once already, and I plan to do it again."

"Then wherever you think it's safe," Clint returned with a half sigh. "You'll know where to go."

"Yes, I do." Her lip quirked into a smile. "Trust me."

The smile he gave her was a true one. "Always."

***

"I recognize this place," Clint murmured when they left the plane.

"I should hope so," Natasha replied with a smile, confidence in every step. "I remember having a hell of a time here."

Clint snorted. "You and I remember this very differently, you know."

Budapest was one of the largest cities in Europe, and the capital of Hungary. There were many tourist attractions for the average person. Its history made it a wonderful location for various spies or information brokers to meet. The many restaurants, museums and attractions were useful places to hide in plain sight, and Clint and Natasha were both familiar with the technique.

Somehow they were in Újlipótváros, the inner part of District XIII, a residential area with many cafés, shops, restaurants, theaters and the Margaret Bridge. The area closest to the Danube River was the most spacious and elegant, particularly around Szent István Park. Clint looked around the area, frowning a little. "I don't remember... The airport is too far from here to walk."

"We didn't walk," the petite brunette told him. "You probably don't remember the cab ride. You kind of intimidated the driver into not cheating us."

"That sounds like me," Clint murmured with a nod. "So what are we doing here?"

"We're going to destroy Loki's hold on you," Natasha told him in quiet tones.

He looked at the park, the pedestrians and then the five of them. "How are you going to do that? He's not here, Selvig's not here. Loki made sure we didn't know where we were going, and Selvig didn't tell me what he had in mind. He cared more for that damned cube than anything else. He didn't shave, didn't shower, was stuck building that machine around the cube." There was frustration in Clint's tone, as well as self castigation. _I should have been better. I should have known. People died because of me. I should have known._

"There's an informant," Natasha told him easily. "You know how it goes."

Yes, he did, though Clint still frowned as he walked after her. He didn't remember changing, but he was in slacks and a collared shirt, pistol hidden under the open suit jacket he was wearing. Natasha was wearing a flowing sleeved green dress, looking utterly lovely. Clint could have sworn that she had been wearing her nanomesh cat suit, but that made no sense in a situation like this. The three people behind him had to be SHIELD agents, though they wore business casual clothing and didn't seem to be carrying weapons. Very obvious backup, if anyone had asked him, but this was Natasha's show, wasn't it? The last time they had been in Budapest, it had been an op gone wrong, and he remembered shooting their way out and nearly dying. 

Something wasn't right, and it made him feel almost sick trying to puzzle it out.

"There, do you see?" Natasha murmured after a moment, looping her arm around his. He could feel a knife sheath along her arm, under the sleeve. That was comforting, and he turned his head to look at her. Despite the SHIELD agents behind them, if they were on another op, a relationship was a good cover. Natasha would never touch him too familiarly if it wasn't safe. It wasn't their way, and that eased some of the tension he felt.

Clint relaxed into her touch and looked toward one of the pools up ahead. He recognized the face of the man up ahead as one of the SHIELD agents that Loki had confiscated along with him, Selvig and the Tesseract. "I never learned his role. Loki didn't discuss anything about him."

"Isn't that rather the point?" Natasha asked, pressing closer to him. He could feel the swell of her breast and longed to caress her, to pin her mouth beneath his. It had been far too long. "He's not seen as important, but he hears all the details that you don't think he knows."

Snorting, Clint leaned in close, as if they were lovers whispering to each other on a summer afternoon stroll. "I don't think Loki had a coherent plan. I saw into him as he saw into me. Something out there that tortured him. He offered us up to save himself, and he's still sick. There's something wrong with him, you saw that."

"Perhaps that agent can tell us why."

"The Tesseract is like poison," Clint said, sudden vehemence in his tone startling even him. "It warps you from the inside out, changes everything about you. It unmakes you..." He stopped walking and looked at Natasha. "Do you know how awful...?"

"You know I do," she murmured, squeezing his arm in support. "You know I do."

"I don't know what's left of me, Tasha. What if nothing's left?"

"It didn't leave traps or triggers. I know that," she told him, confident. "Your mind is your own."

"The screen I told you about..."

"Is an excuse, isn't it? The Tesseract's not here, and no one is controlling you now. This is your chance to get back at Loki, undermining what he means to do. Your chance to be Clint Barton again. Anything past that is up to you."

He looked at her calm expression. "As in..."

"If being compromised is worth it or not."

Her voice carried no inflection, but the words stabbed him in the gut. He pulled her close without thinking about it. "Absolutely," he told her.

"Then let's do what we came here to do."

Clint didn't even ask the former agent what his name was, as recognition was enough. He nodded at Clint and Natasha, not even bothering to take in the three agents behind him. "You know what he wants," the agent said, voice strangely inflectionless. "Power and recognition. He doesn't care who he breaks to get it, and he's only too willing to throw you under the bus. Loki doesn't need you. He never really needed _you,_ he just needed someone highly enough placed in SHIELD to get him what he wanted." The agent shrugged. "When his hold broke from me, that left me to be my own man. Now I can do whatever I want."

"Which is?" Clint prompted when Natasha remained strangely silent.

The agent smiled a rictus grin that seemed similar to Natasha's most sinister. The petite brunette behind him was startled, but Clint felt oddly reassured. If this agent could get out from Loki's control without any serious sequelae, then so could he. "Revenge," the agent said, his voice finally conveying inflection. The pleasure in his voice at the thought of revenge on Loki was clear enough for all of them to hear.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Clint asked, sparing a glance at Natasha from the corner of his eye. Part of Margaret Bridge didn't look quite right, as if the famous angle in the bridge was gone and actually flat. He diverted his attention back to the nameless agent when Natasha remained as calm as ever.

"Loki needs a power source for his machine. The Tesseract _is_ such a power source, but his machinery can't tap into it."

Clint nodded. "Right. It's like asking a PC and Mac to talk to each other. So he needs a power source on this planet to fuel the machine in a way to get it work. There are so very few sources on earth that can match the Tesseract." Clint looked at Natasha, whose implacable face stared back at him. "Stark's arc reactor can, though. His pure, clean, shining example for the future that he kept harping about to Fury as the reason why he couldn't be bothered to consult with Selvig. It's a similar enough design."

"He's powering Stark Tower in New York with it," Natasha told him.

"Then that's where we have to go," Clint told her firmly. Odd, that he was able to take charge like this. He could function in a crisis. It was when there was nothing to do that he felt most at odds with himself. But right now, he felt more comfortable, like his thoughts were slotting back into the proper places.

Natasha looked at the three guards behind them. "Time to take us up."

And before Clint could ask what she meant, he woke up.

***

As the Battle of New York raged beneath them, Arthur and Ariadne looked through one of the plate glass windows of the helicarrier. "They're down there somewhere, fighting," Ariadne murmured, fingers pressed to the glass as if she could make them out from their current elevation. She looked toward Arthur, concern in her features. "This looks bad."

"They'll make it," he assured her, stepping closer. "Natasha always does."

"But what if they don't?"

Arthur slid his hand down Ariadne's back in a comforting gesture, and she leaned into it. "They will. This is what they do, after all. Kind of like getting into Barton's head and getting his thoughts where they should be was our job."

Ariadne gave him a soft smile. "They're not afraid of the consequences of being together, not really. Not the way we are." Her smile was a little sad, making Arthur sigh and lean in closer to her. "It's a different situation, I know."

"Not how it counts. I don't want you hurt because of me or what we do."

She turned and put her arms around him. "And if you didn't have to worry about that?"

"Then I'd compromise you in a heartbeat," he replied with a slight smile. He didn't move to kiss her, and resisted her pull. "Ariadne..."

"The world is about to end," she told him quietly. "And if it doesn't, if they win, I'll just have to work on that worry of yours. I've been told I'm stubborn."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh at that. "Whatever gave you that impression?" he teased. He allowed her to pull him into a kiss at that point, missing the sight of Iron Man speeding up into the sky with a nuclear weapon.

He didn't need to see that to know that the invasion would eventually be turned back. That was simply the way of it. He was far more concerned about a potential future with Ariadne, and what compromise might mean in their world.

It was a worry he would leave for another day. For now, it was enough that they had this moment, and they were safe.

The End


End file.
